Late Nights Will Do That To You

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Last night I was up until about 1:45 and I had to get up around 6 this morning. So, as you can imagine, I am looking pretty rough. I managed to pick out a matching outfit and have a semblance of professionalism, but the dark circles under my eyes and the constant yawning are starting to give it away.

To make matter worse, since I work with a bunch of post-menopausal women, the air conditioning is turned up HIGH. And I mean HIGH. Desperate to keep myself warm, I dug into the winter closet and pulled out this hideous cartigan that looks like something that would be in the bargain bin of the thrift store. Blue, grey, teal and BRIGHT blue eighties patchwork style that has no buttons. So I am in this knee length quasi-quilt wrap, barefoot. Barefoot because, well, my feet hurt really bad. (Being pregn--, fat, does that to you, you know, makes your feet swell.)

I had to creep out to the front and make a few copies. No one of importance was around, so I continued forth in my bag lady attire. However, the temps were eyeing me a little oddly. Knowing it would probably make their day, I struck up a loud conversation with the receptionist:

"I know, I know, I totally look like a bum in this sweater, and it is only worsened by my bare feet".

The receptionist agrees and inquires regarding the bare feet.

"Well, you know, my feet hurt SO BAD, being up until one in the morning in really high heels does that to you."

I sigh.

"But, you know, that's the life of a stripper. Barefoot and pregnant in the morning."

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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